


Twenty Tropes for Real Boys

by flaming_muse



Category: Glee
Genre: Future Fic, M/M, Trope Subversion/Inversion, Tropes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-21
Updated: 2013-12-21
Packaged: 2018-01-05 09:41:56
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 12,950
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1092425
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/flaming_muse/pseuds/flaming_muse
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Twenty fanfic tropes, Kurt-and-Blaine style. A 2013 Bushwick Christmas futurefic.</p><p>Bushwick futurefic, set during Christmas 2013, spoilers assumed through but not past 5x07 (“Puppet Master”)</p>
            </blockquote>





	Twenty Tropes for Real Boys

**Author's Note:**

> For as long as I’ve been in fandom and as much as I can enjoy fanfic tropes, I very rarely write them. There are a variety of reasons for it, but for Glee it’s largely because I write Kurt and Blaine in the “real world” of the show, and it just isn’t that often in real life that aliens make us do it or demons possess us. Even in Teen Wolf, where many of these things could happen in some way, I riffed on the theme instead of writing tropes seriously in “Extenuating Circumstances.” It’s just how I’m built. I’m contrary.
> 
> But then, being contrary, I sometimes wonder how I would write something I feel no need to write. (That’s why I wrote “24/7/365”; I was contemplating how I’d handle kidfic.) So the other day I got to thinking about how I could write common fandom tropes with Kurt and Blaine, a light went off in my head, and here we are.
> 
> Bushwick futurefic. Christmas 2013. Fanfic tropes. Fluff, friendship, two boys in love.

1\. _Aliens made them do it_

“Left, left,” Rachel says as Kurt tries to balance on his toes on the back cushions of the couch with the string of lights held up over his head. They’re lit and sparkling in his eyes, dancing a little disconcertingly when he blinks. “ _More_ left, Kurt.”

“I can’t get any more left without falling off the sofa,” Kurt snaps over his shoulder at her. He leans a little more anyway.

“Just two more inches,” she tells him from where she’s standing across the room, her hands on her hips as she directs. “We want it to be even. There’s no point in doing any of this if it isn’t even.”

“I won’t let you fall,” Blaine says to Kurt from below, standing beside the couch. His hand on Kurt’s hip squeezes in a way that Kurt assumes is supposed to be reassuring, though realistically if he tips over he knows the best Blaine will be able to do is break his fall as they both tumble to the ground.

“He’s just going to squish you if he falls on you,” Santana comments from where she’s untangling another string of lights at the kitchen table.

Kurt wonders why reality always sounds so much less pleasant coming from her mouth. Also, he’s been on top of Blaine _plenty_ of times, and Blaine has never once complained about being squished, thank you very much.

“I don’t know,” Sam replies, up on a ladder by the front door, absolutely mangling the bow he’s trying to tie. After the lights are up, Kurt’s going to have to go fix it. “Blaine’s pretty strong.”

“Thanks, Sam!” Blaine says happily, his eyes bright from the compliment as well as the eggnog they’ve all been drinking.

“Kurt’s like two feet taller than he is,” Santana says. “It’s simple physics.”

Beside her, Dani laughs and nudges her with her hip, the bell on her elf hat jingling with the motion.

“There!” Rachel cries as Kurt grits his teeth and stretches just that much further, his leg extended far out behind him for balance; he’s lucky his yoga class has been working so much on core strength and stability. He’s also lucky, he thinks, that he ladled out his cup of eggnog before Santana poured more brandy into the bowl.

Kurt attaches the lights to the bookcase wall with a bit of sticky tack and drops back to a more stable position with both feet on the back of the couch with a sigh of relief. The cushions dip under his weight, but they’re so much more solid than being supported by nothing but his training, determination, and open air.

“That looks really nice,” Blaine says, his face tipped up and his hand still warm on Kurt’s hip.

Kurt smiles down at him, then tilts his head and examines his work. His mouth drops into a faint frown. Are the lights a little uneven?

“I think it’s uneven,” Rachel says. “Maybe if Sam and Blaine spotted you, you could lean - “

“Absolutely not,” Kurt says. “A little imperfection is homey. And much less dangerous.” He puts his hand in Blaine’s to let Blaine help him down off the couch. Not that he needs the help, really, even with the eggnog buzzing in his veins, but he likes the gallant elegance of the gesture. He likes the gallant elegance of _Blaine_ , especially when he looks so nice in that red sweater and silver bow tie, dressed for the occasion even if it’s only a night in of decorating with friends.

But that’s Blaine. He never forgets how important occasions are.

Filled with an overwhelming fondness, Kurt keeps hold of Blaine’s warm, safe hand even after his feet are down on the floor.

“Okay, the next one goes over the - “ Rachel starts.

“Wait a minute,” Santana says around a mouthful of cookie. “Lady Hummel and his tiny, elf-sized mate are under the mistletoe.”

Kurt and Blaine both look upwards. Sure enough, there is a little bunch of plastic mistletoe tacked to the ceiling between the kitchen and the back of the apartment. “Who even put that there?” Kurt asks.

“Doesn’t matter who. You know the rules,” Santana says. “You have to kiss, or it’s seven years of bad luck.”

“Isn’t that a broken mirror?” Sam asks, coming down off the ladder.

“What _does_ happen if you don’t kiss under mistletoe?” Rachel wonders. She ladles herself another cup of eggnog and leans her hip against the table.

Santana drops the still-tangled string of lights on the table. “Who cares? They still have to kiss.” She crosses her arms over her chest and fixes Kurt and Blaine with a challenging look. “Go ahead. And make it good. If we have to watch you, at least you can give us some tongue action.”

“You don’t have to watch us,” Blaine says, just as Kurt asks pointedly, “How much have you had to drink, Santana?”

“Kiss! Kiss! Kiss!” Dani chants, clapping her hands.

Kurt rolls his eyes at all of them, but when he moves to pull his hand away from Blaine’s he finds that it’s held fast. He looks at his fiancé, who is giving him this soft, happy smile.

“Really?” Kurt asks with a lift of his eyebrows, surprised that Blaine doesn’t seem to mind what’s going on. Even now, even after everything, even after getting engaged and moving in together, they don’t kiss in front of people all that often. There’s no need for it. They don’t have anything to prove.

“It’s mistletoe, Kurt,” Blaine says simply, openly amused. “We have to.”

Kurt looks around at his friends, who are all watching them in some type of anticipation, from Dani’s giddy grin to Sam’s guileless smile to Rachel’s bittersweet fondness, and sighs. There’s no getting out of it; if he refuses, he’ll never hear the end of it, and it’s not like he doesn’t like kissing Blaine. It’s not like he doesn’t _want_ to.

But if they’re doing this, he’s also not going to be teased about giving Blaine a sexless peck on the lips. He’s heard that enough from Santana, though how she can call them a pair of eunuchs and _also_ complain about them keeping her awake with their bed squeaking he is never going to understand.

“Come on,” Rachel says. “We have more decorating to do if we want to be done by the time _A Christmas Story_ comes on.”

Kurt glances at each of their friends again and then back at Blaine, who is watching him with undisguised love and maybe a little bit of anticipation shining in his eyes.

Kurt can’t help but smile back, because at the end of the day, he really just _loves_ him, too. His heart feels full with the joy of the season, the holiday cookies in his stomach, and the errant pieces of tinsel caught in Blaine’s dark hair. He loves it all, even if he doesn’t really need the peer pressure to show it.

With one last shrug at the mistletoe above them, he cups Blaine’s cheek and presses a soft, slow kiss to his mouth, deepening it when Blaine’s arms come around him and his lips open on a sigh. It’s not indecent, just sweet, sweet from love and crystallized sugar and vanilla-scented nog. Blaine’s hands are strong on Kurt’s back, his cheek is warm and just a little stubbly under his palm, and his mouth is just as perfect as it ever is, exciting and safe and home all at once.

Maybe it’s the eggnog, or the season, or the impending threat of his friends’ reactions, but Kurt is slow to pull back, slow to want to give up the moment, and Blaine’s eyes are just as hazy as his feel as they blink at each other from a few inches away.

Blaine smiles at him, his fingers tightening in the back of Kurt’s sweater for a moment before letting go.

“Uh - ” Sam clears his throat and bites into a cookie when Kurt looks back at his friends, squaring his shoulders for their comments.

Rachel glances away, suddenly busy with an empty box of garlands.

Santana reaches weakly for the ladle for the egg nog. “I need another drink,” she says, her voice a little strangled.

Laughing under his breath, Blaine sways in against Kurt’s side, and Kurt wraps his arm around Blaine’s waist and holds him there.

“I love everything that happens in this apartment,” Dani says with a huge smile.

 

2\. _Demon Possession_

“Good morning,” Blaine says as Kurt walks out of their bedroom, his hair sticking up in odd angles and his feet bare and silent on the cool wooden floor. Blaine can’t help but smile at him; he loves living with Kurt for so many reasons, but one of his favorite is getting to see Kurt sleep-rumpled and unguarded.

“Was Santana actually sawing wood last night?” Kurt asks, his voice a husky croak from disuse. “Tell me there’s a new table out here. Tell me she cut down another Christmas tree.”

Mildly alarmed by the hostile tone to his voice, Blaine pulls a mug down from the shelf and glances over at the living room. “I haven’t noticed one.”

“We need a better white noise machine. We need _another_ one.” Kurt falls heavily into one of the chairs at the kitchen table.

Going over to the refrigerator to get the milk, Blaine says, “We can turn ours up.”

“It’s not enough to combat her snoring,” Kurt says. He crosses his arms over his chest. “I’m not sure anything would be able to drown out Rachel’s morning warm-ups, either. I know she has the early shift at the diner today. I know she needs to keep her voice in good shape for _Funny Girl_. But really, even _we_ ought to be able to follow a ‘no singing before six-thirty’ rule in this apartment.”

“We should at least talk about it again.”

Kurt makes a disagreeable noise. “Like Rachel will care. Didn’t she wake you up, too?”

Blaine snags a spoon from the drawer. “I didn’t notice.”

“You’re lucky,” Kurt grumbles. “I really don’t know how you can sleep through all of the noise. But then you were up late watching that movie with Santana, weren’t you? I don’t even remember you coming to bed.” He leans back in his chair and glares over at the empty sofa, his brow deeply furrowed and his eyes dark with annoyance. “I like falling asleep with you.”

Smiling a little to himself, Blaine takes the chair opposite him and slides the cup of coffee across the table to his fiancé. “Coffee?”

Kurt looks at it with suspicion for a moment before lifting the steaming mug to his mouth. He takes a small sip, and then as his shoulders drop and his eyes close he drinks deeply. He sighs out and licks his lower lip as he slowly lowers the cup to the table. He sits quietly for a long moment.

Then his eyes open again, and all of the sharp edges of his mood are softened. He’s no longer glaring daggers but calmer and more centered. More awake. More himself.

 _There_ is the Kurt Blaine knows.

Kurt takes another drawn-out sip of coffee. Then he reaches out a hand to take Blaine’s across the table, his long fingers curling around Blaine’s palm. He meets his eyes, really sees him, and smiles. “Good morning,” he says much more gently.

“Good morning, Kurt,” Blaine replies, squeezing his hand.

 

3\. _Hogwarts AU_

“Obviously I _want_ to say I’m a Gryffindor,” Blaine says over the sound of the front door sliding open. “But when I think about it I’m actually kind of worried I’m a Hufflepuff.”

Kurt glances up from the bed, though he can’t see Blaine coming back into the apartment with the privacy curtain closed; he’s supposed to be getting ready for his last final, but he can’t help that sound carries in the apartment.

“Dude, you are not a Hufflepuff!” Sam tells him, clearly offended. “You’re totally a Gryffindor. Strong and brave, always standing up for what’s right.”

“Maybe,” Blaine says; he doesn’t sound convinced. “I’m also loyal, though. And I don’t rock the boat that much.”

“It doesn’t matter,” Sam says. “If we were at Hogwarts, we’d both be Gryffindors. We’d live together and play Quidditch and drink butterbeer on weekends. It would be awesome. Trust me.”

Kurt shakes his head and goes back to his script. He is happy for many reasons that Blaine has Sam, but one of the biggest is absolutely that Blaine has someone to have these conversations with who isn’t _Kurt_.

“Kurt would be in Gryffindor, too,” Blaine says more cheerfully. “That would be cool.”

“Not Ravenclaw? He’s pretty smart,” Sam says.

The refrigerator door closes. “I know, but he’s so brave. If you’d seen him stand up to Karofsky or navigate a sample sale you wouldn’t even have a question in your mind.”

Kurt’s heart flutters a little at that assessment of himself; he knows Blaine loves him, but it’s always nice to hear _how_ he’s earned his admiration.

“Artie’s in Ravenclaw for sure, though,” Sam says, his voice coming from closer to the couch than the kitchen.

Kurt picks up his phone and uncurls the attached earbuds to fit them into his ears; if there are going to be people in the loft, he’ll need to drown them out with music.

“Oh, definitely,” Blaine says. “And Santana’s - “

“Slytherin,” Kurt finishes in a decisive mutter at the same time as both Blaine and Sam.

Smirking to himself, he turns on his music and settles back down to work as they laugh and continue their conversation.

 

4\. _Huddled together for warmth_

No matter how high they turn the heat up on their ancient thermostat, the loft is always cold in the winter. It has too many old windows and too little insulation to be anything but, and first thing in the morning, especially on days when Kurt has an early class and has left the bed long before Blaine wakes, Blaine longs for the efficient and enveloping central heating of his parents’ house as he shivers his way awake.

They each find their own ways of dealing with the chill in the apartment. Santana takes endless - and inconvenient - long, hot baths. Rachel fills her room with warm-mist humidifiers to the point that peeking through her curtain is like walking into a greenhouse. Kurt dresses himself in sweater after beautiful, soft sweater.

Blaine rubs his cheek against Kurt’s cozy, sweater-clad shoulder and pulls the chenille throw up higher over his own shoulder. He curls his legs closer where they’re tucked up on the couch beside him. His eyelids are drooping as they watch _Real Housewives_ ; not even their strident yelling, Santana’s laughter from the chair beside the couch, and Kurt’s deliciously sharp commentary can keep the lethargy of contentment from creeping over him as surely as the cocoon of shared body heat wraps around him.

Blaine curls his hand over Kurt’s thigh, not too high up but still plenty warm enough to heat his palm and up into his arm just from the simple act of touching him.

He loves to touch Kurt. He loves to be close. He loves that there are so many opportunities now.

“Warm enough?” Kurt asks him, his cheek resting against Blaine’s hair.

Blaine’s nose is a little chilly, and he probably should have put on his slippers instead of just wearing socks. But he’s warm, so warm, so very happy and warm tucked here under the blanket with Kurt.

“Mmm,” he replies and snuggles up closer.

 

5\. _Sex pollen_

The apartment door slides open, and Kurt looks up from slicing carrots to see Blaine coming in. There’s snow in his hair and a plastic grocery bag hooked on his arm, and a smile rises to Kurt’s face just to see him. Blaine’s _home_.

There’s something that makes Kurt’s heart stutter in his chest to have Blaine come home after a long day apart, especially when it’s just the two of them in the apartment. It’s like their long future ahead, years of being married, is starting now. In a way, despite the chaos of their friends coming and going around them, it already has. _This_ is their life together.

“It’s snowing!” Blaine says, grinning with the kind of unbridled enthusiasm that can make him seem so much younger than he is and that Kurt silently hopes he’ll never lose.

“I can see that. Did they have onions?” Kurt asks, putting down the knife on the cutting board and walking toward him. He can’t make their dinner if he doesn’t have onions, and Santana had apparently used the last few the night before practicing her crying for another commercial audition. Not only is that rude, but it’s completely unprofessional.

“Yes,” Blaine says, and he lets the bag slide from his elbow to his hand to offer it to Kurt. “I got some garlic, too, just in case.”

“Thank you.” Kurt starts to open the bag when Blaine pulls out something from behind his back with a flourish.

It’s a big bundle, narrow at the bottom and wide at the top, wrapped in purple florist’s paper; Kurt doesn’t know how Blaine’s coat had hidden it, but then Kurt had been distracted by the sparkle in his eyes.

“These are for you,” Blaine says, his smile growing even wider. He jiggles the bundle, the paper rattling with the motion.

Kurt puts the bag on the table and takes a shallow breath as he accepts the flowers with gentle hands. “Why?” he asks, pulling open the paper to expose the bouquet of bright red and white blooms mixed with deep green leaves.

Blaine shrugs off his coat and says over his shoulder as he hangs it up, “I saw them, and I thought you’d like them.”

Kurt sets the flowers down to unwrap them, and he has trouble breathing around the sudden lump in his throat. “They’re beautiful.” Simple, elegant, and gorgeous, perfectly seasonal and yet somehow special.

The special part probably has to do with the man who bought them, Kurt thinks, someone who in the middle of a snowstorm, at the tail end of finals, in a tiny corner bodega getting groceries on a dreary Wednesday night, bought flowers for _him_.

The lump in his throat gets bigger.

Pressing a kiss to Kurt’s shoulder and settling his hand at his waist, Blaine says with a smile, “I’m glad you like them.”

Kurt turns to him and slides his arms around him, kissing the corner of Blaine’s winter-cool mouth as his heart fills and fills with the simplicity and sweetness of the gesture. Blaine has accused him in the past of being full of surprises, but Blaine can be, too. Blaine can just _do_ things, bare his heart, be affectionate without reservation, and Kurt loves that about him. Kurt loves _him_.

“ _Thank_ you,” Kurt says and watches the love dance in Blaine’s eyes for a moment before he just _has_ to kiss him properly, kiss him and kiss him and kiss him until they’re breathing hard and their hands are in each other’s hair and they have to decide whether they need to break apart to make dinner or should take advantage of being home alone for once.

It’s not a difficult decision.

They have the pizza place down the block on speed-dial, after all.

 

6\. _Coffee Shop AU_

Kurt’s slender fingers are quick and efficient on the cappuccino machine, flicking buttons and tamping down coffee with the experience of months of practice.

“ - says she can get the three of us tickets to the Christmas Revels for Friday,” he is saying to Rachel, including Blaine over his shoulder as he picks up the pitcher to start frothing the milk.

“Three lattes,” Rachel tells him.

“I heard you the first time.” Kurt reaches around her and grabs another cup as she leans in front of him for the cinnamon shaker in their graceful dance. “I’m already off that night, and Santana says she’ll cover your shift if you’ll take an early morning for her next week.”

There’s a blast of steam and noise as Kurt turns a valve and keeps an eye on the thermometer he’s balancing just so with one of the fingers of his left hand.

“ - a meeting with the producers on Tuesday at nine,” Rachel says over the machine, “but Wednesday I could - “

Blaine rests his chin on his hand, his elbow on the counter that sits between him and his friends, and admires the line of Kurt’s broad shoulders and lovely back in his work uniform. Kurt’s hair is especially perfect today, and for some reason that shirt always looks so good on him.

“You’ll have to check the schedule, Rachel,” Kurt says, carefully but quickly pouring the milk into the cups in front of him and then picking up a rag to wipe down the spout with gentle strokes, his engagement ring flashing in the diner’s lighting.

Something dark stirs in Blaine’s belly as he watches, and he realizes he’s almost jealous of a cappuccino machine. He knows just how it feels to have Kurt touch him like that.

Rachel starts to load the coffees onto her tray and frowns at Kurt, her ponytail bobbing with the disapproving twist of her head. “I said three lattes, Kurt. You made too many.”

“No, I didn’t,” Kurt replies.

He scoops up one of the cups and places it on the counter beside Blaine’s long-forgotten homework reading.

As Blaine blinks at it in surprise, Kurt smiles at him, bright and affectionate, far more warmly than he does to anyone else he serves here.

“For my favorite customer,” he says with a wink, and then he hurries off to check on his tables, leaving Blaine to sigh over his graceful stride and busy hands and sip his perfect coffee until Kurt and Rachel get off shift and they can all head home together.

 

7\. _Amnesia_

Kurt stomps the clinging slush off of his feet in the hallway outside of their door. His feet are chilled through, his arms are sore from carrying so many shopping bags, and he feels harried and unhappy.

He loves shopping. He loves finding the perfect presents for people. He’s never met a mall he feared or a fellow shopper he couldn’t out-maneuver. But New York is filled with millions of people also shopping for the perfect holiday gifts at a bargain, and they all seem to have sharper elbows than their Ohio counterparts. He’s nowhere done with his list, most of his money is already spent, and if he hears “Santa Baby” one more time he’s pretty sure he’s going to start screaming.

Giving up on his shoes, which may now have a permanent coating of New York sludge on their lovely, previously butter-soft leather uppers, Kurt trudges inside and drops all of his bags heavily beside the door so that he can pull off his scarf and get out of his coat.

“Kurt?” Blaine says from their bedroom, sounding alarmed.

“It’s me,” Kurt calls back.

“Where have you been?” Blaine asks. He comes out of their room dressed in suit pants and a white dress shirt, his hands working at his bow tie. “I’ve been texting you for an hour.”

“Shopping,” Kurt says. “My phone was buried somewhere in my pocket, and I couldn’t dig it out with my hands so full.”

“We’re going to be late,” Blaine says, his voice and face tight and anxious, and Kurt looks at him again. _Suit pants. Dress shirt. Bow tie._

“The Dean’s Christmas party,” Kurt says breathlessly, his heart dropping into his shoes. All of the blood drains out of his face, leaving him lightheaded and dizzy. He feels like he’s going to throw up.

Blaine nods and settles his neatly tied bow tie at his throat. “We’re supposed to leave in fifteen minutes. Rachel’s just finishing up her hair.”

“I’m so sorry,” Kurt says to Blaine, because Blaine is the one who got them the invitation to begin with. He is the one who is taking a seminar with the Dean next semester and who needs to get off on the right foot with him. He’s the one who has to be there when the party starts to be a part of the hand-picked quartet singing Christmas carols to greet the Dean’s guests. “I can’t believe I forgot. I stopped for one thing, and then I finally found a scarf for Dad, and - ”

“Tell me later,” Blaine says. “You need to hurry. We have to _go_. I can’t be late for this, Kurt. I have to be there.”

Kurt’s hands have gone numb, and it’s not from the cold. He has fifteen minutes to go from soggy shopper to fashion plate. His suit isn’t even steamed. His hair is a disaster. He hasn’t even decided what shirt he wants to wear.

This is horrible. He can’t believe he _forgot_. Sure, he can meet Blaine there later if he has to, but he can’t believe he’s done this to Blaine.

No, he hasn’t done it yet. He has fifteen minutes.

“Don’t worry,” Kurt tells him, meeting his eyes in a firm promise. “I can do this.”

Blaine stares at him with wide eyes for a second, then relaxes a tiny bit and nods. “Just hurry, okay?”

“Go get your jacket on. I’ll be ready.” Kurt takes a deep breath and strides for their room. It will be fine. He might need to make magic happen right now, but he’s done more in less time.

Rachel had just better stop hogging the mirror if she knows what’s good for her.

 

8\. _Fake boyfriend_

“So, you’re from Ohio. What’s that like?” Kelly says, running her hand up Blaine’s forearm.

“Um.” Blaine clears his throat and looks down at her hand, not quite sure of the best way to dislodge it. Not that she’s hurting him, but she’s started touching him a _lot_ , and he can’t get out of this corner of the Dean’s living room if she doesn’t move. He doesn’t want to be rude. “Different from New York,” he manages to say. “I mean, weather-wise it’s kind of the same. We have snow, too.”

“Do you?” She tips her head to the side, her long, dark hair spilling over her shoulder. “I love the snow. I think it’s so romantic.”

Blaine thinks of Kurt with his nose red from the cold and his lashes sparkling with snowflakes and says, “I do, too.” He smiles as he says it. He can’t help it.

Kelly smiles, too, and touches his arm again. “And you’re a singer. Your voice is so nice.”

“Thank you,” Blaine says. “Do you sing?”

“I’m a dancer,” she says. “That’s probably why I haven’t seen you at school.”

Blaine nods. “I’m usually only there for classes. I work, too, and I live in Bushwick, so it’s a long way home.”

Kelly flicks her hair back over her shoulder and says, “Oh, I live near NYADA. If you ever need a couch to crash on overnight, let me know. My roommates are really quiet.”

Blaine can’t help but laugh, because his roommates are anything _but_ quiet, and he looks over Kelly’s shoulder for them as she digs for something in her purse. It’s a busy party, and unfortunately he doesn’t see anyone he recognizes during his quick, respectful, desperate glance.

“I want to put your number into my phone,” Kelly says. “And give you mine.”

“I don’t - I - “ Blaine stammers, because it’s not like she’s being rude or awful, and yet a part of him isn’t sure how to respond, because he knows he’s never going to stay at her apartment when he has Kurt to go home to.

“Do you have a girlfriend, Blaine? Is that the problem?”

“No,” Blaine says, too surprised by the question to do anything but answer truthfully.

Kelly’s smile grows even wider, and she leans in toward his ear. “Then you should definitely call me. I wouldn’t want to be the other woman, but if there’s no woman...” She tweaks his bow tie as she draws away again. “So cute.”

“But - “ Blaine begins. “I’m gay.”

“Oh, I don’t care about that,” she says with a wave of her hand. “You have no idea how many gay guys I’ve slept with. Don’t worry. I can show you how it all works.”

Blaine’s eyes go wide, because that wasn’t the answer he expected at all. “You don’t care that I’m _gay_?”

“Labels are so restrictive, don’t you think?”

Blaine stares at her, then blinks and shakes his head. “In this case it’s accurate.”

“Please,” she says. “You’ve been flirting with me for twenty minutes.”

His mouth dropping open, Blaine reflects in a panic over their conversation. He’d been attentive, talking about the music and complimenting her on her necklace and then getting into more personal matters... Was that flirting? He looks out over the room in dismay. He doesn’t mean to be flirting. She just seemed interesting, and he knows how important accessories are after so many years with Kurt...

Suddenly the face of a small but glorious savior appears beyond Kelly. It’s Rachel.

“Blaine!” she says, sweeping around Kelly to take his side.

“Hi, Rachel,” he says around the mixture of relief and guilt roiling in his stomach.

“I’m Kelly,” Kelly says.

Rachel ignores her. “I wondered where you were, sweetie.” She leans up on her toes to kiss him on the cheek and then slides her arm through his in a quite obviously possessive gesture. She does it just as well as Kurt does. “I was looking for you. It’s time for us to go home.”

Kelly looks between Blaine and Rachel. “I thought you said you were gay.”

“Sorry,” Blaine says helplessly, not sure what to say but absolutely sure he would like to get out of there with Rachel before the situation becomes more uncomfortable. “I wasn’t trying to hurt your feelings.”

“He’s so sweet,” Rachel says. “He never knows what to say when someone comes onto him.”

Kelly stands up a little straighter and says acidly to Rachel, “You should know he’s been flirting with me all night.”

Rachel just laughs. “I’m sure he couldn’t help it.” she says to Kelly, patting Blaine’s arm. “Come on, Blaine.”

“Thank you so much,” Blaine says under his breath as Rachel leads him away. “I told her I was gay, and she said she didn’t care. And now she thinks I was _lying_.”

“We’re definitely going to have to teach you what to do when women are hitting on you,” she tells him.

“I didn’t even know she was,” Blaine says, his heart heavy. Why doesn’t he know these things? He feels so foolish.

Rachel pats his arm again. “I know. Now let’s find Kurt. He’s been looking for you.”

“That sounds wonderful,” Blaine says with feeling. At least he knows what to do when Kurt is flirting with him. And he’s definitely allowed to go home with him at the end of the night.

 

9\. _Gay for you_

Sitting at the kitchen table, Kurt slowly stirs the oatmeal mixture as it cools. He’s making a batch of his oatmeal face mask, though in reality he doesn’t remember what he put in it or how long he’s been stirring.

In front of the couch, Blaine bends more deeply into his lunge, his thigh muscles - bared by the tight, tiny, bright red shorts he is wearing, paired with a green shirt in honor of the season - flexing with the motion. His ass flexes, too, and Kurt’s eyes trace its muscular curve, taut and strong, the perfect shape for his hands to grab onto.

Kurt stirs a little more vigorously, and Blaine switches legs and lunges again. His body bends in a beautiful stretch, the power in every inch of it visible to Kurt’s eyes.

Blaine and Sam have a gym membership and go together a couple of times a week, but between their sessions Blaine likes to do an intense pilates and stretching regime in the living room. Though he often does it when he’s alone in the apartment, with classes being over Kurt is home today to see Blaine twist and sweat his way through his routine.

Blaine stands up and then leans forward over his toes, his ass up in the air, and Kurt clutches the bowl to his chest and fervently thinks he should make an effort to be home more often.

He wouldn’t consider himself to be an ass-man, particularly. It’s not the first thing he notices in a man, not even the thing he likes the most after bright eyes and a good sense of style. He likes every part of Blaine, really.

He likes Blaine’s strong, muscular arms, which are conveniently on display thanks to his tank top. He likes the width of Blaine’s shoulders, currently damp with sweat and flexing in smooth and distracting movements. He likes the solid strength of Blaine’s back beneath the clinging material of his shirt, the tendons of his neck, the small of his back, the trim line of his waist. He likes the curve of Blaine’s calves and the thickness of his legs where they disappear into his shorts. It’s all beautiful. It’s all tempting and touchable.

Letting out a sigh, Kurt tips his head as Blaine bends over his toes again. All of him is simply gorgeous, Kurt thinks, but his ass, oh, his ass is definitely a high point. Not too small or flat, perfect in a tight pair of pants, even more perfect in those small shorts, the bulge of his cock and balls so visible between his legs and the seam at the back fitting snugly along his cleft, defining it, _emphasizing_ it, making Kurt visualize what Blaine looks like bent over _without_ the shorts, open and ready for him, begging to be touched -

“Wow,” Sam says, dropping into the chair beside Kurt, and Kurt nearly fumbles the bowl onto the floor in his surprise.

“I’m - uh - “ Kurt stammers, trying very hard to pull his eyes away from Blaine as he drops down to the floor to start doing push-ups. Kurt’s face is hot, and as embarrassed as he should be about it he simply cannot make himself look away from Blaine. “I’m making an oatmeal mask.”

Sam peers into the bowl and makes a disappointed noise. “I was hoping it was cookies.”

“Sorry,” Kurt manages to say.

“Not a problem. Maybe later. When you aren’t so distracted.”

“He’s - “ Kurt clears his throat and runs a flat hand along the edge of his open collar; suddenly his shirt feels very tight. His pants, too, but that’s been true for a while now. “I mean - “

“Dude,” Sam says gently. He pats Kurt on the shoulder. “I get it. Look at him.”

Kurt lets out a light, giddy laugh and lets go of the spoon to rest his elbows on the table. “I am.”

Sam nods. “I would, too. I’m kind of regretting not taking him up on his offer when he had a crush on me. I mean, the ass alone. Really impressive.”

“Yeah,” Kurt sighs out, watching its tight silhouette as Blaine pushes himself up off the floor and lowers himself back down again over and over.

The only reason Kurt doesn’t want to be under him in that very moment is that then he couldn’t see him as well.

Sam pats his shoulder again and says, “You’re a lucky man.”

“I really am.”

 

10\. _Epistolary_

Kurt to Blaine: _Did you pick up toothpaste?_

Blaine to Kurt: _Do we need toothpaste?_

Kurt to Blaine: _We do if you didn’t pick up any._

Blaine to Kurt: _I didn’t know we needed it._

Kurt to Blaine: _So that’s a no._

Blaine to Kurt: _Yes._

Blaine to Kurt: _Yes, that’s a no. I didn’t get toothpaste._

Blaine to Kurt: _I got more eggnog, though! :D_

Kurt to Blaine: _:) I’ll stop and get toothpaste on my way home._

Blaine to Kurt: _Cinnamon flavored?? xo_

Kurt to Blaine: _Fine. Because I love you. xoxo_

Blaine to Kurt: _I love it when you taste like cinnamon. xoxoxo_

Kurt to Blaine: _Are you escalating the xos on purpose?_

Kurt to Blaine: _If so: xoxoxoxo_

Blaine to Kurt: _Come home and brush your teeth with cinnamon toothpaste, and I’ll xo you so much you lose count._

Blaine to Kurt: _xoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxo_

Kurt to Blaine: _How much eggnog have you had?_

Blaine to Kurt: _None! Rachel made hot toddies. xoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxo Kurt, come home!_

Kurt to Blaine: _Leaving now. <3_

 

11\. _Superhero AU_

“What if you wore it off your face?” Kurt asks from behind Rachel, his hands in her hair as they look at her reflection in the bathroom mirror. “Or just partly up? You could curl the ends into a pretty cascade.”

Rachel turns her head to a three-quarter profile, not dislodging Kurt’s hold on her hair. “Is that dramatic enough with the dress?”

There’s a crash from the other room.

“Beware, evildoers! Nightbird and the Blond Chameleon are here to save Christmas!” Sam yells.

Rachel and Kurt peer as one out of the bathroom door to see Sam in a suit striking a pose by the kitchen table and Blaine in a black and blue costume with a cape leaping over the back of one of the chairs. They’re both wearing silver garlands as headbands.

Kurt and Rachel stare for a moment as Blaine spins, the fabric of his cape flowing elegantly behind him.

Bits of garland float and drift in his wake.

“I think it will be fine,” Kurt tells Rachel, drawing her back in front of the mirror. “Especially if we find something sparkly to hold it back.”

There’s another crash. They both flinch, but neither one of them makes a move to see what happened. When Blaine and Sam are in costume, anything can happen. It’s best not to ask.

It’s just Tuesday.

 

12\. _Curtainfic_

Most of the time, Blaine loves their privacy curtain. When it’s pushed back, it makes the loft look spacious and airy; when it’s pulled closed, it blocks out most of the light from the apartment and muffles the worst of the sound.

Santana and Rachel usually respect it and leave them alone if it’s closed, at least after the time Santana snuck in late at night to find them having fallen asleep naked and she screeched about being blinded by so much of Kurt’s pale skin for the better part of a week afterwards. And the drawn curtain makes things feel cozy and comfortable, like a big, bedroom-shaped tent, this month lit from outside by sparkly multi-colored lights that make everything that much more magical.

The sound of Kurt pulling it shut on its rings makes Blaine’s heart leap in his chest every night, communal space turning into _their_ space with a flick of Kurt’s elegant hand.

The problem is, though, that it’s still only a thin barrier of cloth between their room and their friends.

Blaine loves their friends. He loves living with them. He loves that Sam and Dani and Elliott and Artie are around so much, popping up for odd meals or just to hang out on the couch all afternoon. He loves that his _casa_ is their _casa_ , however the saying goes in Spanish. How much they all share of their lives warms something deep into his core. It makes him feel at home in a group in a way he’s always wanted. In some ways, this apartment feels more like home and family than his parents’ house ever did.

But sometimes Blaine wants to be loud. Or he wants Kurt to be loud. Or he just wants to be very, very quiet and take a nice nap with his wonderful, hard-working, exhausted fiancé, who has just worked an extra long shift at the diner to help make enough money to afford the gifts he wants to buy this season and still go home to Ohio for a couple of days before New Year’s.

Blaine trails his fingers through Kurt’s hair and feels Kurt’s go that much more limp against his side. Draped over him, Kurt makes a low, muffled sound of exhaustion and misery.

“Dashing through the snow!” Rachel sings in the other room, and Kurt jerks at the sound of her voice.

“In a one-horse open sleigh!” Dani follows.

It’s loud enough that it feels like they’re right beside their bed.

Blaine squeezes his eyes shut and keeps petting Kurt’s hair, though he knows it’s entirely futile. This nap isn’t going to happen. Even if he blew Kurt to help him relax, one of his best weapons in his fight against Kurt’s sometimes frantic sleeplessness, he knows Kurt wouldn’t be able to fall asleep afterwards with the impromptu sing-a-long going on.

It might be worth a try anyway. Or it would be if he thought he could actually concentrate on the task with the sound of Christmas caroling in his ears.

The four-part harmony they get going for the refrain is actually pretty nice, Blaine thinks, draping his free arm over his eyes and sighing in frustration. But wow, can’t they do it in Sam’s apartment for once?

Blaine pets Kurt’s thick hair and presses a kiss to his temple. “Want me to dig out the extra strong ear plugs?” he asks. They’re too stiff to be comfortable to wear every day, but this seems like a worthwhile reason to use them.

“I would trade every bit of couture I own for a set of walls and a door,” Kurt mutters against Blaine’s chest and rolls onto his back to let Blaine get up.

 

13\. _Body swap_

Wrapped in his bathrobe after his shower, Kurt pokes listlessly through his ties. He has so many of them in so many patterns that he usually finds exciting and clever, but tonight they all feel boring. They feel expected. They feel dull.

Kurt turns to look at his racks of clothing. Maybe he should wear an outfit that doesn’t require a tie, but Isabelle just gave him that Tom Ford blazer, and he was really wanting to wear it to karaoke night tonight. It’s festive and new, perfect for the holiday season, and even better he looks incredible in it and kind of wants to make Blaine’s eyes smoulder when he sees him.

He sighs and goes back to sorting through his accessories. He just needs to get over himself and pick a tie. Blaine knows all about tie angst and will love him just the same.

A thought sparks in his brain, and Kurt chews on his lip as he slowly turns toward the chest of drawers Blaine uses for most of his clothes. He walks over to it and pulls open the squeaky upper drawer. Inside are bow tie after bow tie, all pressed and lined up neatly like a rainbow of delightful, dapper options just waiting for him.

He and Blaine don’t really share their wardrobes; they’re built differently enough that most of their clothes wouldn’t fit right on the other, and their styles aren’t all that compatible. Kurt’s statement pieces have a harder edge; Blaine gravitates toward looks that are more traditional than Kurt likes to wear. Even when they like the same kind of accessory - like ties - the details are so very different: simple, colorful stripes for Blaine and edgier, dark colors with metallic accents for Kurt. So they keep their clothes separate and just enjoy looking at each other’s choices.

But, Kurt thinks, as he breathlessly touches his fingertips to the ties, bright and so very Blaine, one of these wouldn’t be expected at all.

No, he could make quite a statement going out of his comfort zone and into Blaine’s instead.

And he wonders with an anticipatory twist of his stomach if Blaine’s eyes might flash even darker at the thought that Kurt’s wrapped in something of his all night long.

 

14\. _Dominance/submission_

“No,” Blaine says.

Kurt lifts his eyebrows. “What do you mean no?”

“I don’t like it,” Blaine says, staring unhappily at the supposedly sweet but actually creepy Christmas elf figurine with its rictus smile and serial killer eyes. “I don’t want it in the apartment.”

“But I like it,” Kurt replies. “It’s cute. And vintage.”

Blaine has to look away from the elf where it sits on the kitchen table, and he draws himself up a little taller. “It’s terrifying. I’m going to have nightmares.”

“But I _like_ it,” Kurt says again, this time a little more firmly. He crosses his arms over his chest.

“And I _don’t_.” Blaine crosses his arms over his chest, too.

Kurt stares him down.

A part of Blaine really wants to give in. He wants Kurt to be happy. He wants Kurt to have everything he wants. He wants Kurt to smile at him instead of giving him this disapproving glare, the one he most often shoots at Santana. Blaine can feel his spine softening in his back, ready for him to say yes to Kurt, because he loves him that much.

On the other hand, the elf is _horrifying_ and _scary_ , and Blaine really will have nightmares if it’s sitting somewhere in the loft. He’s not even sure he’s going to want to be here alone with it.

Blaine squares his shoulders and adds, “I live here, too.”

There’s a long moment of tense silence as Kurt stares at him through narrowed eyes and Blaine stands his ground and stares right back.

It could go either way. If there’s one thing he’s learned about them living together it’s that while they try to care for each other, they both have strong opinions and tend to be sure they’re right. Neither of them likes to compromise when it’s important. Blaine knows from the thumping of his heart and the storminess of Kurt’s expression that this could escalate into a blow-out of an argument and fast. It could end in a stalemate that leads to resentful silence and a chilly bed tonight.

But he also knows that they’re equal partners and they both have a say, and that means that Blaine gets to put his foot down and be in charge some of the time.

Kurt lifts his chin mulishly, and Blaine wonders for a second if Kurt really is going to put the need to have everything his way over Blaine’s wishes about a stupid but hideous little Christmas elf... but then Kurt drops his gaze, picks up the figurine, and gives it a sad look before tucking back in the shopping bag.

“Okay,” Kurt says with a sigh. “I’ll send it to Carole. She’ll love it.”

The prospect of going home to Ohio with Kurt for a few days suddenly gets a lot less exciting for Blaine if he’s going to have to be on the lookout for that statue in the Hudson-Hummel house, but at least it won’t be _here_.

“Thank you,” Blaine says with a relieved smile. He resists the urge to bounce up onto his toes, because nobody likes a poor winner. Still... no elf!

Kurt leans in to press a kiss to his cheek and says, “I love you.” Then he rustles around in his bag again like he’s looking for something. “But I’m keeping the vintage musical snowglobe, no matter what you say.”

“Does it have an elf in it?” Blaine asks in some trepidation.

“No,” Kurt says. “Just a landscape.” He scrunches his nose a little, thinking. “There’s a train.”

Blaine’s shoulders drop, and he smiles at him without reservation. “Trains are good. I like trains.”

Kurt makes an amused noise and says, “I’m so glad you approve.”

 

15\. _Hurt/comfort_

Kurt hums to himself as he cuts a swath of thick, metallic paper from the roll and places it down on the bed in front of his crossed legs. His phone is playing Christmas music beside him, the apartment smells wonderful from whatever Santana and Dani are making for dinner, and his pile of beautifully wrapped presents is growing on the far side of the bed. He admires them with satisfaction for a moment before picking up the red mohair sweater he had found for Santana, tight enough that she’ll wear it but soft and warm enough that it’ll serve her well in these New York winters. It’s not actually colder here than in Lima, but they’re outside so much more, walking everywhere in the frigid winter air.

Kurt loves New York, but he looks forward to being rich and famous enough that he can have a driver.

Folding the sweater in tissue, Kurt places the bundle in the center of the paper, wraps the edges neatly around it, and holds it all in position with one hand while pulling a piece of tape from the dispenser. He sticks it in place, but as he turns the package so that he can fold up the other edges a sharp line of fire along the pad of his finger makes him jump and pull his hand back with a jerk.

“Ow,” he says, sticking his finger into his mouth automatically as it stings and burns. He sucks on it, tasting the burst of copper on his tongue, and then he pulls his hand back to take a look at the papercut.

There’s a slice in his finger nearly an inch long, and blood wells up into the cut as he watches. He sticks his finger back into his mouth.

“Fuck,” he says around his finger and tries to disentangle himself one-handed from the carefully arranged prison of wrapping supplies and presents he’s built around himself. It’s not graceful or all that successful. Up on his knees, he lunges forward to catch the toppling pile of gifts before they tumble off the bed and says again, with feeling, “ _Fuck_.” A roll of wrapping paper clatters to the floor on the other side of him.

“Kurt?” Blaine asks with concern from outside the drawn curtain. “Are you okay?”

“Yeah.” Kurt glares down at his still-bleeding finger. “Just a nasty papercut.”

Blaine hesitates for a second and then asks, “Do you need help?”

Kurt sinks back down in the only safe spot on the bed with a sigh. He’s not getting out of this room without a disaster happening.

All of Blaine’s presents are already wrapped, so he admits, “I could really use a bandaid.” He presses against the cut with his thumb and winces at the discomfort; that’ll teach him to buy the expensive wrapping paper. No good deed goes unpunished, just like the song says.

“I’ll be right back.” Blaine’s footsteps hurry across the apartment, and a minute later they return, pausing outside the curtain again. “Is it safe for me to come in?”

“Yes.”

Blaine carefully slips inside, checking that the curtain is closed before coming over to the bed. He lights up at the pile of presents in a moment of excitement before his brows draw together with the seriousness of the situation. He shifts the bandaid and tube of antibiotic ointment into one hand and reaches out with the other. “Let me see?”

“I can do it,” Kurt says, but Blaine just stands there with his hand out.

“Let me help, Kurt,” Blaine insists gently.

Something in his chest melting a little at the gesture - because he is perfectly capable of handling the cut on his own but somehow he’s lucky enough that he doesn’t _have_ to - Kurt extends his hand and watches as Blaine oh-so-carefully cradles it in his palm and examines the cut for a moment.

“Ow,” Blaine says in sympathy before squeezing out a bit of ointment and wrapping the bandaid around Kurt’s finger, neatly and not too tightly. He works intently, his head bent and his fingers warm and sure on Kurt’s hand, like it’s important, like Kurt’s important.

Kurt’s not sure if the cut has stopped hurting or if his inability to breathe has shut off some of the vital systems in his body, but the way Blaine looks up at him, warm-eyed and concerned, makes it feel like nothing in the world hurts at all for that few seconds.

“How’s that?” Blaine asks, smoothing his thumb over the edge of the bandage.

Kurt knows his heart is spread across his face, every bit of his happiness at being cared about visible when he says, “Perfect. Thank you.”

Blaine smiles back like he’s delighted by Kurt’s reaction and raises Kurt’s hand to his lips. “Any time.”

 

16\. _Snowed in_

When Blaine was little, he hated winter storms.

It wasn’t the threat of thunder or icy roadways. It wasn’t the way they turned his father cranky and made him get home even later than usual from work. It wasn’t the way he was chilled through waiting for the bus on the days he had to go to school.

It was the boredom. That’s why he hated winter storms.

If it was sleeting or snowing, his mother insisted it was too cold for him to go out and play, so he used to have to stay inside and amuse himself quietly instead of being able to run, jump, and explore the way he wanted to. Storm days meant long, dull hours of claustrophobia, no riding his bike around the cul-de-sac with his friends, no swinging high up into the sky on the swing set in the back yard, not even building snowmen or sledding, though those might come the next day if he was lucky and they got so much snow school was canceled.

No, stormy days in the winter meant feeling trapped, isolated, and alone. They made the world feel so small, just the walls of his house and his family inside with him, cut off from everything else. It was like the rest of the world was pushed away, too far to reach. He’d sit at the cold window, watching the water fall outside, and wish and wish and wish for it to stop.

Now, though, as the freezing rain and snow splatter and hiss against the loft’s windows, part of Blaine wants the storm never to end.

Now the dark skies and the water against the windows is insulation, protection, keeping Santana stuck at work, Rachel at rehearsal, and Kurt from going out to run last minute errands, keeping people out and sound in.

There’s only Kurt and Blaine and the storm outside.

The world is still small, but it’s beautifully so. It’s just them. It’s just Kurt’s cock hot and heavy in Blaine’s mouth, Kurt’s hands carding helplessly in Blaine’s hair, Kurt’s low moans and the susurration of bare skin against their sheets in Blaine’s ears, all kept in, kept close by the blanket of bad weather around them.

The world is small. It’s intimate. It’s breath and skin and warm light from the lamp pooling on Kurt’s chest and down his stomach. It’s Kurt’s soft requests for more as loud as a shout. It’s Blaine’s racing pulse like thunder in his ears. The world is nothing but this apartment, this bed, this man.

Kurt gasps as Blaine takes him deeper into his mouth, almost into his throat, and curls his fingers in Blaine’s hair in greedy gratitude. His body is slick with sweat, and Blaine slides his hand up Kurt’s stomach and chest just to feel the tension in him, the desire, the passion, all of it for him. Every part of Kurt’s razor sharp mind and graceful body, so often scattered by his work or his many plans, seems caught in this moment, drawn in and focused only toward where Blaine touches him. 

“Love this,” Kurt says, rocking up into his mouth in little hitches of his hips the way he always does when he’s too close to stop himself. He twists his fingers in Blaine’s sweaty hair, gently, gently, panting with each slick movement along Blaine’s tongue. “Love you. _Blaine_.”

Blaine swallows around him and works him faster but not quite fast enough to make him spill, not yet.

Instead he draws it out as long as he can, loving him and enjoying him, pouring every bit of himself into the action as the sleet dances against the windows and the city is paused all around them, and thinks _this is everything in the world_.

There’s nothing else. Nothing close. Nothing that matters but them.

He wouldn’t mind if the storm lasted forever.

 

17\. _Bondage_

Kurt twists his arm up behind his back and reaches as high up as he can. No luck. He tries the other hand. As limber as he is, he’s not even close.

He tries to touch the clasp from above, but his fingers brush against the metal without quite gaining purchase on it.

Turning around, he cranes his neck over his shoulder to get a better look at the back of the vest. He has to admire how it sits on him - it makes the span of his shoulders look amazing - but he’s been wearing it all day and would really like it _off_ now, thank you very much, and he can’t quite reach to unfasten the buckle at his shoulderblades.

“This is why you don’t buy clothes from an up and coming designer, no matter how much you love them,” Kurt mutters to himself. “They’re more into the aesthetics than the practicalities.”

Kurt drops his hands to his sides and glares at his reflection. He’d wiggled the vest on over his head that morning and fastened the buckle at his waist afterwards, but no matter how he is squirming and twisting he can’t quite manage to reverse the motion without the vest getting caught somewhere. It’s something about the shape of the arm holes or the snug, perfect fit of the chest.

His expression softens in the mirror. It really does fit him beautifully.

He shakes his head and strains up behind him again and utterly fails to reach the buckle. He bends forward and pulls at the vest’s shoulders more vigorously, managing to slide them a few inches up his arms... where it sticks again, this time trapping his arms up over his head.

“Oh, for - ” Kurt drops his head for a moment and takes a steadying breath. He can’t stay like this all night. He tries to lower his arms, and nothing happens.

He tries again. Nothing happens but some creative swearing.

Gritting his teeth, he wiggles and twists, fighting to get the vest to slide back into place.

“Hi?” Blaine says slowly from the doorway to their room. His eyes widen in concern. “Everything okay in here?”

“Blaine,” Kurt says in relief, somehow managing to drop his arms and not look like a kindergartener caught in his shirt. “Would you please help me take this off? I cannot get out of it to save my life.”

Blaine’s eyebrows rise in surprise, but he’s laughing as he strolls over. “I’m trying to remember if I’ve ever said no to helping you out of your clothes.”

Kurt turns to present him with the stupid, gorgeous back of his vest. “Only when we’re in a rush and it’s faster if I do it. But that’s more of a recreational thing. This time you’ll be saving me.”

Pausing with his hands on the buckle, Blaine murmurs in Kurt’s ear, “Will you give me a reward for coming to your rescue?”

“Besides not having to see me wear the same outfit for the rest of my life?” Kurt asks, unable to hold back a little shiver at the puff of breath against the side of his throat.

Blaine laughs again, ducking his head to press a kiss to the nape of Kurt’s neck before tugging the buckle free.

He doesn’t ask for more of a reward, but Kurt gives him one, anyway, offering him a suitably grateful kiss... after he sets aside the entrapping vest.

 

18\. _Fertility ritual_

Sitting beside Kurt in his favorite spot on their couch, Blaine wonders as they stare at Santana if he’s had too much to drink. Or maybe not enough to drink; he’s only had a few sips. Whatever the answer is, clearly he is not at the right state of inebriation for what’s happening.

Santana straddles Dani’s lap, her arms extended up over her head, and writhes in the air above her. Her skirt, which was already quite short to begin with, slips higher up her thighs as she moves.

Blaine’s eyes widen as Santana pulls the clip from her hair and leans back so that it cascades all the way down behind her to brush Dani’s knees. She trails her fingers through it, her hips swaying back and forth, and then runs her hands down her sides in a practiced, seductive motion.

“Hmm,” Dani says, watching her girlfriend with laughing eyes. It’s not just the sparkling lights above her that are making them glitter. “You said one word, movie title...”

“Mm hmm.” Santana puts her hands on the back of the chair by Dani’s head and leans forward, her cleavage almost brushing Dani’s face and her ass angled out toward the rest of the group.

“I know the answer, Santana!” Rachel insists from the other side of the room, looking pointedly away at the Christmas tree instead of the scene unfolding in front of them all.

“Nope.” With a wink at Dani, Santana pops open a button of her sweater. “My teammate has to guess.”

Tapping her finger on her chin, Dani hums in obviously feigned confusion and says, “I’m still not sure. Keep going.”

“You guys have a really interesting way of playing Christmas Eve charades,” Elliott says in a strangled voice from the other side of Kurt.

“All right, which one of you put _Striptease_ in the jar of clues?” Kurt asks the room with sharp disapproval.

“Me,” Artie says, leaning forward in his wheelchair as Santana shimmies and rolls against her girlfriend. “And I’m definitely not sorry.”

“Yeah, dude, that was genius,” Sam says and offers him a blind but surprisingly accurate high-five. His eyes are similarly fixed on the scene in front of them.

Blaine swallows as Santana bends back over Dani and undoes another button, exposing the tank top she’s wearing beneath her sweater. It’s not that he’s attracted to her, obviously, but she really is very pretty, and it’s hard not to be drawn into how much Dani is enjoying the display.

“Charades are awesome!” Dani says, laughing and putting her hands on Santana’s hips as she bumps and grinds to the music in her head.

“Oh, _yeah_ ,” is Santana’s purring reply.

“Isn’t there a time limit on how long she has to guess?” Rachel asks, still not looking.

“Yeah, but Santana’s the official timekeeper,” Elliott says.

“And that was our first mistake,” Kurt mutters. He picks a piece of lint off of his sweater with a sharp, judgmental motion.

“It’s kind of sweet,” Blaine says, because it is, the way they’re grinning at each other so happily. They’re really cute together, their eyes sparkling and their movements too fond to be salacious. Of course, he’s also not the target audience for her display, but he’d like to think that even if he were he’d still find it sweet.

“Santana, can you please finish your lesbian mating dance so the rest of us can play the game we invited everyone here for?” Kurt asks.

“Hold your horses,” Santana tells him, sliding down to sit on Dani’s lap, still moving her upper body. “I haven’t seen her in days, and I’m having fun. You’ll get to act out _Broadway Back Door Boyfriends_ for your boy soon enough.”

“Santana!” Rachel cries as Blaine’s face goes hot.

It’s hard not to picture Kurt performing the same sort of dance on _his_ lap, even though it would be weird in front of all of their friends.

Blaine looks down at his hands and tries not to think about Kurt’s hips when he shimmies and grinds...

“Is that a real movie?” Sam asks.

“That sounds kind of good, actually,” Elliott says thoughtfully.

“These clues were supposed to be family friendly!” Rachel says, sitting straight up in her chair in frustration.

Santana leans against Dani and laughs, the act apparently over but not her amusement. “We’re all family, and that sounds _really_ friendly...”

In an abrupt motion that makes Blaine sway in surprise on his cushion, Kurt stands and announces with a brisk clap of his hands, “Okay! I think it’s time for Christmas cookies!”

“Wanky,” Santana drawls and curls a lock of Dani’s hair around her finger.

“What?” Dani asks her. “How is that wanky?”

“I don’t know,” Santana says with a shrug. “I just wanted to say it.”

Dani smiles more widely and leans in to kiss her with quite a bit of affectionate enthusiasm.

Blaine hears Artie make a soft, appreciative sound under his breath.

“If this turns into an all-out orgy, I call dibs on Sam,” Elliott says and reaches for his drink.

“This is _not_ turning into - “ Rachel begins.

“Come on, Blaine,” Kurt says, stepping over Elliott’s long legs. “Help me plate the cookies.”

Blaine glances between Rachel’s angry face, Santana’s amused one, and the kind of glazed look in Artie’s eyes. They won’t be getting back to charades any time soon.

“Okay,” he replies and quickly follows him to the relative safety of the loft’s kitchen.

 

19\. _Fuck or die_

Kurt sighs contentedly to himself late that night as he slides under the covers on his side of the bed. _His_ side. He has a side, because Blaine lives here, too. Blaine has his own side, his own towels, his own everything in this life he’s sharing with Kurt.

Rolling onto his hip, Kurt reaches out to find Blaine’s hand beneath the blankets. Somehow it’s always there waiting for him. Somehow their fingers always thread easily together. Somehow Blaine’s eyes are always already on him, unnaturally dark, half in shadow in the dim streetlight filtering in through the window.

“It was a nice night,” Kurt says, twining his fingers with Blaine’s and snuggling down into the bed. He’s tired, but a warm energy thrums in him, too, something contented and open.

“It was.” Blaine smiles at him, his expression going sweet and soft. “Everyone seemed really happy.”

“And the cookies were excellent,” Kurt prompts shamelessly.

Breathing out a soft laugh, Blaine says, “And your cookies were _excellent_ , Kurt.”

Kurt smiles back for a moment - his body heavy with that bone-deep satisfaction of a night well-spent with people he really does love and whom he _knows_ love him, too - before saying to the one whom he loves and who loves him best of all, “I love living with you here, doing all of this with you. Even with the threat of Santana being shirtless always hanging over our heads.”

Something in Blaine’s face melts even further, and he smooths his thumb over the back of Kurt’s hand beneath the covers. “I love living with you, too,” he replies. “And I’m not afraid of Santana.”

“Don’t let her hear that. She’ll up her game. Try to drive you out for good.”

Blaine slides closer, his breath warm against Kurt’s face. “I’m not afraid of that, either,” he says softly.

“No?” Kurt slips his arm around Blaine’s warm waist and tips his face toward him for a kiss, though none comes.

“No,” Blaine tells him, less than an inch away. “Nothing’s going to drive me away from you. I love you. And I love that we get to spend every night together.”

Kurt’s heart fills even more, making him feel buoyant and yet solid, grounded, sure. “Me, too,” he promises. “I love you, too.”

Blaine’s smile is wide and filled with a kind of innocent joy, but the kiss he gives Kurt is anything but sweet. It’s neither soft nor tentative but deep and searching, eager, needy, and Kurt closes his eyes and with the simmering need of a night of light drinking and not enough touching throws himself into it.

There’s no reason not to. He has Blaine, he loves him, and they’re _together_. There’s no reason to hold back at all.

They kiss and kiss until Blaine pushes Kurt onto his back and climbs on top of him with a hoarse groan, until their lips are swollen and their jaws are sore, until their shirts are off and their skin is sweaty, until their bodies are restless and their breathing is ragged, until Kurt’s hands are beneath Blaine’s pajamas, caressing and kneading his firm ass, and their cocks are rubbing hard against each other, kept apart by increasingly frustrating layers of fabric.

“Blaine,” Kurt says, not knowing quite what he needs apart from _him_. That much he knows. That much he’s utterly certain of, every bit of his body straining toward him.

It feels as necessary to life as breathing, as necessary to life as performing to be near him. He loves him so much, from his tender heart to his passion for music to his inability to remember from week to week which is the washing machine with the ineffectual rinse cycle.

Kurt gets to be with Blaine every night now, every day, but instead of just getting used to touching him and loving him it simply makes him want it _more_.

It’s a hunger that’s never going to be sated, he’s realizing, but in a way just having that kind of huge, boundless need for Blaine is a joy in itself, because it means so much to him, to his life that he gets to feel it and because he knows Blaine feels that way about him, too. They’ll always be hungry for everything about each other. Always.

“Fuck me,” Blaine says against Kurt’s mouth. “Fuck me,” he says against Kurt’s ear. “Fuck me,” he says against Kurt’s throat and jaw and chin. “Please?”

“Blaine,” Kurt says again, squeezing his ass without conscious thought but with definite approval, and Blaine laughs as he pulls away to flops to the side on his stomach to dig for the supplies.

Kurt shimmies out of his pajama bottoms as Blaine does the same, but then instead of coming back Blaine stays there, lifting onto his hands and knees and looking at Kurt over his shoulder with challenge and love and giddy anticipation.

Kurt doesn’t hesitate. He bends over him and kisses Blaine’s shoulders, his back, the line of his spine and the curve of his ass as they both breathe through waves of need as he opens him up and gets him ready.

And when Kurt fits himself between Blaine’s legs and slowly, smoothly, insistently slides home into the welcoming heat of Blaine’s body, Blaine drops his head low and lets out a long breath as he flexes and relaxes around him. “Kurt,” he says, and it sounds so much like _yes_.

It’s easy to move in Blaine, to find a rhythm, not just because he and Blaine know so well how to be with each other, not just because Blaine knows how to dip his spine and ride back onto him to make them both gasp and laugh at how right it feels, not just because Blaine is beautiful and responsive and _his_. It’s easy for Kurt to move in Blaine because every part of him wants to be with him, as close to him as possible, and every part of Blaine wants him there, too.

It’s not just sex, though it is that - sweat and sinew, muscle and bone, panting breaths and low words, sharp, desperate thrusts that drive them both wild before they slow down, honey sweet, to draw out the pleasure longer, each deep, demanding press of Kurt’s cock into Blaine’s willing body winding them tight with how much they both just _want_ it, want more of it, want all of it until there’s nothing in the world but their bodies spiraling higher and sharper with need - but also love. Love for each other, love for the many ways they can express it, love for getting to learn about it all together.

Because part of every day is new, part of every night is new, part of every touch is new, and the parts that are becoming familiar are just as wonderful.

Kurt leans over Blaine’s back, mouthing at his shoulder blade as he digs his knees in and fucks into him harder, listening to the demands of his body and the increasingly throaty moans Blaine isn’t able to stifle. He can feel the tension in Blaine’s muscles, the way he’s snapping his hips back to take each thrust, the red hot hardness of Blaine’s cock as Kurt palms over it below him.

“God, oh god, oh _Kurt_ ,” Blaine says hoarsely, falling onto his elbows as Kurt curls his hand around Blaine’s erection. The angle splays Blaine’s legs wider, pushes Kurt into him deeper, and strips away the last of Kurt’s control.

He just wants Blaine. He _wants_ him like this, under him and with him, he wants his gorgeous body and his huge heart, he wants to hold him and touch him, he wants to make him come, he wants to come in him, he wants to drive them both over that edge, because every amazing thing that they can do alone is better when they are together, including this.

Kurt fucks into him again and again, gritting his teeth as he bottoms out against Blaine’s perfect ass and wishes despite all the laws of anatomy and the universe that he could keep going even deeper, feeling more of him, feeling Blaine take him that much more inside. But still, this is amazing. So good. So _good_.

“I’m - Kurt - “ Blaine’s hand joins his on his erection, and together they stroke him hard and fast until Blaine’s shaking and squeezing around him and coming all over their joined hands and the rumpled sheets beneath them.

Blaine sinks down onto the pillow, and Kurt braces one hand on Blaine’s hip and the other beside Blaine’s open, smiling face and feels it all, feels everything, feels the tightness of Blaine’s body around him and the warmth of his smile, feels the way Blaine stretches, spreads his legs even more, and just _lets_ him take his pleasure, and if everything else about Blaine and being together weren’t already perfect - which it is, it always is - the simple way Blaine keeps letting him in even after he’s already gotten what he needs would push Kurt beyond his limits.

For most of his life, Kurt hasn’t had a partner like this by his side, so generous and full of love, and now even as it can still shock him he doesn’t know how he was really living without having this, too.

“Oh, Kurt,” Blaine murmurs, and he sounds so blissed out and _happy_ that it catches Kurt right under his heart and breaks him open.

Kurt chokes back his groan as he coils like a spring and comes, hips jerking through his release as he collapses forward, pushes deep, and lets himself go.

He pants against Blaine’s back, curls his arm along Blaine’s to find his hand, and squeezes his eyes shut in joy, because even though he knows this dizzying afterglow will only last so long this _sureness_ in him, the rightness of being with Blaine, that he knows will last forever.

 

20\. _Soulmates_

The lights on the Christmas tree glow red, green, and gold, lighting up the metallic strands of garland and catching in shining fragments of glitter on the ornaments. On the couch, Blaine drinks his coffee and watches the ornament Kurt bought him - a pair of red sunglasses made from blown glass - spin in the teasing tendril of air from a nearby draft.

The living room is a disaster area of crumpled wrapping paper, discarded bows, and open boxes. Presents are piled on the floor in uneven heaps by wherever they were unwrapped. There are empty mugs and crumb-filled plates on the coffee table from their breakfast of Rachel’s sour cream coffee cake and Kurt’s leftover Christmas cookies.

It’s a rare moment of silence after a boisterous morning of presents and friendship. Santana is taking a shower, Rachel is calling her dads, and Sam and the others haven’t arrived yet for their promised Christmas brunch.

It’s nice. Peaceful. Despite the chaos, surprisingly beautiful.

Blaine takes another sip of coffee and leans into the warmth of Kurt’s shoulder beside him. Kurt looks up from the book in his lap - a retrospective from the Costume Institute Blaine had bought him - and smiles over at him, everything about him relaxed and open in a way Blaine loves so much.

“I’m still not sure that bow tie goes with your pajamas,” Kurt says fondly, reaching up to touch the new striped tie he had given Blaine, which Blaine had immediately secured around his throat.

“Yes, it does. It’s Christmas.” Blaine reaches out for Kurt’s fingers, feels them fit into his like the perfect key to the lock of his heart, and brings them down to rest on his thigh.

Kurt’s smile rises warmer into his eyes, bright beneath the rumpled fall of his morning hair. He’s the most beautiful thing in the world, and Blaine turns to him like a plant reaching for the sun when Kurt leans in for a kiss.

“Merry Christmas, Blaine,” Kurt tells him, soft and just for him.

“Merry Christmas,” Blaine says and holds his hand close and his heart closer as he goes back to watching the lights dance on the tree.

**Author's Note:**

> Reminder: I am spoiler-free!


End file.
